Work Text:
“It is rare for a gem to be born. It is rare to be a lustrous.”
Sensei’s words resonate inside Goshenite’s mind as they pace around the dome, feigning calm. Their hands are clenching and unclenching around the hilt of their sword. Every ten steps, Goshenite can’t resist taking it out of its scabbard with a long ‘swoosh,’ practicing and practicing until they think it looks close enough to how the seniors do it. There is one sibling in particular they want to impress.
Goshe doesn’t know what to expect from their first day of work. When Fluorite patted their head earlier that morning, they wouldn’t stop reminding Goshenite to be careful. Probably they still can't forget about how Red Diamond was abducted, a few decades before Goshenite was born. Goshe doesn’t really know, they never met them. Never met anyone that was abducted. The school is safe; it’s all they have ever known. The island is safe; Sensei is here. To them, patrol is just a routine, in case Sensei can't make it in time when the moon people attack. It is something to do and it makes Goshenite feel old and responsible. They can’t wait to start.
“We must protect your kind because your lives are precious,” Sensei said, “It is rare for a gem to be born. It is rare to be a lustrous.”
It is even rarer for two gems to be born on the same year, but that’s what Goshenite is. One of a kind, because they were born with a sibling, a best friend, someone unique with whom they can share everything, from days and days of lectures to the first morning of patrol.
Morganite is waiting for them in front of the school. Sensei and the other gems are here already, discussing battle plans. Goshenite’s cheeks turn a soft red as they scooch closer, trying not to be seen. They wonder how much time they have lost practicing swordsmanship by themselves.
“We’re assigned to the Hollow cape, with Turquoise and Green Topaz,” Morga says, waving their hand at them.
Fluorite turns their head in that exact moment and gestures for the two young gems to be silent.
“Took you long enough,” Morga whispers when the elder turns their attention back to Sensei.
“I was practicing,” Goshe replies, quite proud of their accomplishments, “I’ll show you.”
“Uh, uh.”
The sky above Goshenite’s head as they trot to their patrol spot is fresh and bright, a clear early-spring sky that makes their eyes hurt with white. It’s pristine and Goshe can paint it any color now that their real life has begun, now that they have a place to be.
It’s so beautiful, they think, closing their eyes when the white becomes too pure to bear. They would never believe how little it takes it all to crumble .
The first arrow hits them in the arm they used to practice.
Goshe’s first thought goes to Morganite, to the fact they won’t be able to show them the swift, elegant swoosh the scabbard made when Goshe extracted their sword. Their second thought goes to Fluorite and Sensei and how they’ll lecture Goshe for hours after this.
Not even for a second does Goshe think that they will be abducted on their first day of patrol. No one Goshenite knows has ever been abducted; this island is safe.
The second arrow breaks Goshenite’s face in half. One of their eyes falls to the ground, they instinctively turn the remaining one towards Morga. Their sibling is paralyzed by fear just a couple of steps behind them, a hand around their sword, still. They don’t say a word.
Goshenite’s last thought is for them again. They should protect them. Morga shouldn’t have to see this, their partner shattering in a thousand shiny pieces in front of them, glittering white and silver in the white, pristine morning.
They raise their remaining arm toward Morga, “It’s okay,” they want to say, but a cascade of arrows cuts them off before the sound can escape their lips.
Goshenite crashes to the ground just when Morganite finally lets out a scream. It’s the last thing they hear.
It is rare for a gem to be born. It is rare to be a lustrous.
As Goshenite looks at the sky, drinking in blue and gold, they think that, as rare as it might be, it is all they have ever known and the same must be for their siblings. That must make it common, at least to some extent, maybe even normal. But they trust Sensei’s words.
There is one thing they cannot shake off from their mind, however, and it is a feeling of familiarity. As if the sky above their head and the world below their feet were old, known, no matter their young age. They come back to Goshe in flashes and sparks of memories, the refraction of light at a particular angle, when it bounces off Morganite’s hair.
It is rare for a lustrous to be born, but it is even rarer for two lustrous to be born in the same year. And Sensei smiled enigmatically at Goshe when he said it, holding a newborn pink gem in his arms and showing a few months old Goshenite their new sibling. Goshe was too young to understand at the time, but they can swear that the younger gem’s head jerked up when Sensei pronounced Goshe’s name. In the second their eyes met, something ancient, mysteriously sad, passed between the two gems.
It must be Goshenite’s imagination. They are still young and imaginative, as Chrysoberyl uses to say, but on days like these they can't shake off the image of Sensei’s smile from their mind. What would he say if Goshe talked to him about it? It makes Goshe feel too exposed, so they talk with Morganite, at night, when the other gems are playing cards and cursing Euclase’s luck.
Morganite brushes it off the first time, perhaps with too much energy. They scoff and recline their head backwards, with the same carelessness of Padparadscha but with none of their gentleness.
“That’s stupid,” they say, vulnerable and stubborn.
Goshenite hugs their knees to hide a smile. Morganite’s reaction is louder than every word Goshe could have hoped to get from them. They know their sibling well, but they won’t say it until Morga is ready to hear it.
It takes for Blue Zoisite and Topaz to be abducted, for Heliodor to be born, for Yellow to quietly start curling up into a ball of silence, but eventually Morga is.
One day, during a particularly late attack, arrows are flying over Goshenite’s head and they turn to look for Morganite. It is almost evening and the two gems are tired, autumn is rapidly fading into winter. Goshe’s reflexes fail them. They make a mistake. They trip. They see Morganite launching themselves at them before they see the arrow that was meant for Goshe. It shatters the pink gem’s torso in half. Morga falls onto them.
The impact shatters Goshenite as well and the two gems collapse on the ground in a cascade of shining fragments, then everything is black.
When Goshe opens their eyes again, they are at the infirmary. Rutile is polishing their scalpels next to the window. They have gotten better, Goshenite realizes, raising a hand toward their eyes. They can barely see the cracks.
“Morga is still unconscious,” Rutile mumbles without looking at them, “it’s a miracle you were saved. Please be more careful next time.”
“We’re sorry,” Goshenite replies.
Rutile smiles at them and then leaves the room, picking up on Goshenite’s unspoken request. It’s a matter of seconds before the echo of the doctor’s feet disappears down the hallway. Morganite chooses that precise moment to squint their eyes open.
“Did they leave?” they ask.
“Yes.”
“Oh, thank god. This place makes me sick.”
Goshenite chuckles, sitting on their bed.
“You shouldn’t have done that, it was dangerous.”
“Yeah,” Morga shrugs, looking anywhere but into Goshenite’s eyes.
“Why did you do it?” Goshe insists.
Morganite huffs, throwing their legs off the side of the bed and stretching their limbs, uncaring of the fresh glue between their junctures. For a long second they don’t say anything, and Goshe thinks they’ll drop the subject. Then Morga turns towards them, their face white in the subtle, familiar beam of the moonlight.
“You know why,” they say.
“We never got it right,” Goshenite sighs, crashing to the ground when the umpteenth arrow finally cuts their arm off, “I’m sorry.”
Morganite has been lying on the grass for a while already, their limbs scattered all over the green in glittering chunks that the lunarians are picking up greedily. It makes for such an ironic goodbye. Instead of a moment of grieving peace, the two gems are left with long, overcrowded minutes, with dozens of hungry lunarians pushing their presence between them. It makes Goshe feel like nothing more than a shiny object. Maybe this is all they ever were, after all.
“I’m sorry,” they apologize again, but Morganite grunts, flinching next to them.
“Stupid, what are you sorry for?”
“I-”
“We got it right this time,” they whisper, relief lining their voice, “I didn’t lose you.”
Goshe wonders if it is true. Is dying together all there is for the two of them? For every gem? Just as they mull over this, a group of lunarians comes forward. They pick up Goshe’s shattered legs with a smile on their face and put them in a basket already overflowing with pink and silver.
”We both lost,” Goshenite realizes, “They’re taking us away. It’s over.”
“Yeah,” Morga agrees, as if they were only now noticing, “Are you scared?”
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
“It’s okay, I’m here.”
“I’m here too.”
“Come on, get up.”
Phos’ voice sounds so cheerful compared to Cairngorm’s groans.
“Fine, fine,” they concede, sighing so loud that Goshenite doesn’t even have to strain themselves to hear, “but I’ve gotta change first, get out you creep.”
Eavesdropping on other people is not exactly polite, but little Goshe doesn’t care much about these things. It wasn’t their fault the two elders were being so loud at night, and talking about such interesting things, too.
Since Phos has come back, their trip is all little Goshe has been able to think about. Tagging along isn’t even a choice at this point and it only takes a few seconds for Goshenite to make it.
Going to the moon sounds like the adventure of a lifetime. Who knows what will be waiting for them over there? So far away from home, in a land that thousands of gems have seen but that only Phos has come back from. Huge lunarians, weird buildings, slimy creatures… Goshenite sprints to their own room to get changed with a bright grin on their face.
As they rush down the corridor to reach the hollow cape in time, however, their eyes fall by accident on the sleeping form of Morganite through the entrance of their own room. Goshe’s closest sibling.
Roughly the same age, raised with the knowledge of being a reborn pair of the same gems, Goshenite and Morganite have lived most of their short lives in the shadow of a past self they never met. Maybe this is why they grew so close. Morga’s insecurities, the way they can’t find themselves, Goshe’s attempts to lift their spirits, masking their own desire to find their own luck.
In that moment, with half of their mind already on the moon, Goshenite’s body is shook by a soft pang of guilt. The blame they feel is too deep and too pure to be rooted just in this moment and Goshenite has to stop and stay still for a second.
There is a voice in their head telling them that they can’t hurt Morga again, can’t leave until they get it right, and when Goshe closes their eyes to shake it off, white pristine skies is all they can see. Hisses, the sharp whistle of arrows, chunks of gems glittering in the sun.
It is rare for a gem to be born, is it rare to be a lustrous , it echoes, it’s even rarer for two gems to be born again.
Goshenite clenches their fist and shakes it off. They resume their run as if nothing has happened.
“What about Morga?” Phos asks them, later that evening, the lunarian ship taking shape behind their back.
“They should be fine,” Goshe shrugs, their eyes focused on the ship, on Cicada, on adventures to come.
If being born a lustrous is so rare, if being reborn is so rare, Goshenite’s life is much more precious than they can imagine. But Goshe doesn’t know what to do with this thought.
They are not wise, they only know how to have fun. Bottomless grief seems to be all there is awaiting for gems the older they grow, and Goshe is glad to be this young, glad they can still choose. They just want to have fun, shake wisdom and responsibility off their shoulders and be free.
Maybe this is what Morga wants too, Goshe thinks as the ship lifts off and the island disappears in the immense, dark blue that surrounds the earth. To be free, to be safe, to choose. This is why Goshe is leaving and this is why Morga is staying. If they are apart, they can be free, without an enemy, without pressure to be someone they never knew.
It is a weird sensation, this nostalgia, it tastes like spring.
Goshenite has never been good at emotions, they much prefer doing over thinking. However, that voice inside their mind is calming down, as if it were falling asleep. Safe, at ease. It is a weird sensation, but Goshenite feels like one piece of an enormous puzzle has finally found its place.